


in my mind, in my head

by cubedmango



Category: WTFock | Skam (Belgium)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, M/M, basically the last two eps but different flavor, from s3e9 onwards
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-01
Updated: 2020-01-01
Packaged: 2021-02-27 14:13:53
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,970
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22068340
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cubedmango/pseuds/cubedmango
Summary: The tears make it harder to see, so it takes him a few seconds to realize that Sander's mom is still there, looking right at him. When he rubs his eyes, he sees that she's looking at him not with anger, but with sympathy.She raises her hand, and beckons him over.Robbe walks over reluctantly, slowly.
Relationships: Sander Driesen/Robbe IJzermans
Comments: 4
Kudos: 188





	in my mind, in my head

**Author's Note:**

> so i thought "what if robbe met sander's mom at some point before" and "what if rosander had a crisana-style hospital reunion", and churned this out in three days. enjoy!
> 
> title from 'in my mind' by dynoro & gigi d'agostino.

“So stay the _fuck_ away from my boyfriend, okay?” Britt says to him, “Before it gets even worse.”

Giving him one last look, she turns around and makes her way to the ambulance. Robbe stands frozen in place, barely registering his surroundings, focusing on everything Britt just told him. The harsh blue light stings his eyes, and he lets out a sob as he watches her climb into the back of the vehicle.

He did this. He did this to Sander.

The tears make it harder to see, so it takes him a few seconds to realize that Sander's mom is still there, looking right at him. Robbe's first instinct is to run—to get away as fast as he can—because he doesn't need another person reminding him that he's the cause for all this. When he rubs his eyes, though, he sees that she's looking at him not with anger, but with sympathy.

She raises her hand, and beckons him over.

Robbe walks over reluctantly, slowly, training his eyes on the ground as he takes in everything that's happening around him—the muffled murmurs of the medics, the sounds of the unassuming street behind him, the rapid beating of his own heart. By the time he reaches her, he's hardly able to breathe.

He doesn't know what to say.

Sander's mom doesn't expect him to talk, it seems, because she pulls immediately Robbe into a hug instead of saying anything herself. He stiffens at her touch, not expecting her to do that. She's embracing the boy who caused her son's mania, for fuck's sake—she should be telling him to stay away, just like Britt had.

“I'm sorry,” he cries into her shoulder, uselessly.

She takes a shaky breath, and pats his head. “It's not your fault, dear.”

“It _is_ ,” Robbe tries to argue. Britt just told him that, and he knows Sander wasn't like this before. This only happened because he was with Robbe. He wants to voice all of this out loud, but the words don't come to him. “He— I was—”

“Robbe, listen to me.” Sander's mom says, and he barely catches the fact that she somehow already knows his name. “It's not your fault. His mania— it can happen because of _anything_. You had nothing to do with it, alright?”

He says nothing. He doesn't know what to believe anymore.

“He loves you so much. You make him so, so happy, dear.” she says as she pulls away, resting her hand warmly on Robbe's cheek. “Don't forget that.”

With that, she steps back and opens the doors of the ambulance, mounting it. From the corner of his eye, he notices Britt pointedly looking away from the vehicle's entrance. One of the paramedics strides forward, unaware of Robbe standing there, and shuts the gates firmly. He doesn't get to see Sander at all.

The ambulance leaves, and it takes a long time for Robbe to pick his bike up from the road and cycle back home.

∞ ∞ ∞

The next few days fly by quickly.

On Saturday, Milan tries to pep talk him into some fleeting sense of hope while going through the Wikipedia page on bipolar disorder, and Zoë gently runs her hands through his hair as he sobs into the crook of her neck.

Robbe doesn't know what to think. He doesn't know if what he and Sander had was real or not.

On Sunday, he gets a text from Sander that he doesn't respond to, despite the thousands of questions in his head. Jana lets herself into his room to defend her best friend and to tell Robbe that maybe the only way he can help Sander is by staying away from him.

Her hug brings him no comfort.

He spends the rest of the day stewing, alternating between attempting to study biology, staring at the ceiling of his room, and looking at the persistent rain outside.

It's not for hours after Jana's visit that Robbe opens his messages again, going back to his conversation with Sander, and the latest text in it, sitting unanswered.

**from Sander (11:43)**

_The last hotel was better_

He stares at it for a while, wondering what to write back, wondering if he should say _how are you?_ or _I'm sorry I hurt you_ , or _who was lying? your mom or Britt?_ or _maybe we should put an end to this_.

In the end, he settles for something simpler.

**to Sander (14:08)**

_No room service?_

He puts his phone aside on the bed for one second when it buzzes again. A text from Sander.

**from Sander (14:08)**

_Nope. It sucks. And the food tastes so bad_

Robbe chuckles lightly, remembering the first time they met, and the conversation they'd had back. He wonders if Sander was manic back then, too—if he's been like that this whole time, because of Robbe.

**to Sander (14:09)**

_That'll be 0 stars on_ _booking.com_ _, then_

**from Sander (14:09)**

_That it will. They'll regret disappointing me_

_I'll need to talk to the manager_

Bubbles on the left side show Sander typing for a moment, before disappearing. He goes offline. Robbe shuts his phone off, falls back on his bed, and closes his eyes.

He's not so sure he wants to talk to Sander anytime soon.

∞ ∞ ∞

The rest of Robbe's week is unusually erratic.

On Monday, Moyo unexpectedly opens up to him and the guys about his mother, about taking it minute by minute, and about Sander's love for him being very, very real. Robbe feels a little lighter hearing his words.

On Tuesday, he tearfully hangs up on his father and eats Milan's french toast alone in the kitchen at night, leaving a thank-you note for him on the fridge. He wishes he could be bringing Sander to the restaurant.

On Wednesday, he becomes the target of Britt's withering glare, and watches as Yasmina and Luca tease Aaron over his seemingly-innocent questions. He reminds himself of what Moyo had said and tries not to blame himself.

On Thursday, he watches Senne storm away in a rage and Zoë quietly discuss the testimony, silently calling Sander again. Robbe's doubts he'd pick up, just like the four other times.

On Friday, he bikes over to the restaurant and has a nice meal with his dad. They discuss his school, his friends, his new roommates, and avoid every other potential topic. Robbe's not sure if he's grateful for that or not.

As he crashes into bed for the night, he refreshes his and Sander's conversation for one last time.

Still nothing.

He slides his phone onto the bedside table and tries to get rid of the bitter taste in his mouth as he sleeps.

∞ ∞ ∞

**from Sander (23:48)**

_Robbe, I'm sorry_

_I'm sorry I didn't tell you before_

_I'm sorry it turned out like this_

**from Sander (23:49)**

_I didn't want to scare you away_

_But I did anyway_

_And it made something clear for me_

_We shouldn't be together._

**from Sander (23:50)**

_It's better if there's nothing between us_

∞ ∞ ∞

Robbe spends the start of the weekend lazing on the couch, switching between games on his console to let out his frustration at.

Right now, some twelve-year-olds are getting dealt the brunt of his anger on Fortnite. He doesn't notice Senne enter the room, until his view of the television gets blocked, and his character gets shot to death in that moment of temporary blindness.

“Fuck!” Robbe yells, throwing down his controller on the table.

Senne startles slightly. “You don't have to break it.”

“Sorry,” he mutters, taking off his headphones to walk over and pick the controller back up. Senne watches him, and says, “Maybe you're into it a bit too much.”

“It's just,” Robbe starts. He doesn't know where to go from there. All he can think of is what Sander wrote to him last night, and the sinking feeling in his guts.

“Exams went badly?” Senne asks, offering his box of cookies that he quietly refuses. Robbe murmurs a _well, maybe that as well_ that makes Senne laugh. He continues, “But?”

He sighs, exhausted. “I fucked up with Sander.”

Senne looks puzzled. “Um, what?”

“He messaged me yesterday,” Robbe explains weakly, “to tell me that we shouldn't be together.”

“He dumped you?” he asks, “But why?”

“I don't know— Britt told me that all of it wasn't real for him,” Robbe replies, “Maybe that's why.”

“And you changed your mind about him just because of what she said?” Senne says, popping another cookie in his mouth and watching Robbe carefully.

Robbe stays quiet. Senne complains about how he thought relationships between men would be easier, without all the emotions and subtext. Robbe smiles slightly as he tells him, “Think again.”

Senne sets his cup of coffee down. “Did he send you that?”

“What?”

“That it's over.”

Robbe looks down for a second. “Yeah.”

“I'd want to hear him say it face-to-face.”

“Well, he doesn't answer when I call him!” he tells Senne, exasperated.

“Face-to-face, Robbe.” Senne says, looking right at him. “Go to him, talk with him, and you'll see. At least, that's what I'd do.”

Robbe looks away, considering his words, but the two are interrupted by Zoë and Milan carrying in a big, apparently eco-friendly Christmas tree. Senne pats his knee in encouragement before helping the pair out—or at least, trying to.

Robbe doesn't think about Senne's suggestion until the day is over, after he's gotten the good news about his mom and has finished decorating the tree. As he settles in bed for the night, he decides that visiting Sander—just to potentially get his heart broken in person—might not be a bad idea after all.

No matter the outcome, at least he'd finally have a clear answer.

∞ ∞ ∞

When the receptionist spots him, she gives him a small smile. “Hi. Your mom's in a session right now, but you can wait in her room, if you want.”

“Um, I'm not—” Robbe says, “I'm here to visit someone else today.”

“Oh.” her expression morphs into a confused one. “Who is it?”

“Sander,” he tells her, “Sander Driesen.”

“Okay.” she says, after a pause. A few clicks on the computer later, she continues, “He's on the second floor. Room 201.”

“Thanks,” he mutters, and walks to the elevators.

When he steps out onto the second floor, he bumps into the last person he wants to see right now.

“Oh,” Britt says, out of breath. “Hey.”

“Hey.” Robbe replies weakly, and walks out, not wanting to stand around for a conversation he doesn't want to have. Unfortunately, Britt seems to have a different plan, as she grabs his wrist.

“Wait, um,” she tries, visibly uncomfortable. Robbe wonders what else she could tell him to get him to stay away from Sander. “I'm sorry, for— for what I said last week.”

Robbe blinks.

“I was wrong. You're not—” she sighs. “You didn't cause his manic episode.”

“Okay.”

“And you're not a— a delusion for him.”

“Okay.”

She shuts her eyes tightly, and Robbe notices the faintest of tears in the corners. “I was just so worried, and pissed off, and—”

“Hey,” he interrupts, “It's okay.”

Britt takes a deep breath. After a moment, she continues, “His parents were expecting you to come, so they added you on the visitors list.”

_Huh_ , Robbe thinks. Well, that explains why he was let in. He feels a little better at the thought.

“I'll just,” she points at the still open elevator. “yeah.”

Robbe nods.

Britt gives him one last look, and with a genuine smile, tells him, “Take good care of him.”

“I will.” he smiles back, and turns around to walk to Sander's room.

Robbe wipes his sweaty palms on his jeans, fixes his hair, and sighs.

He knocks, once, twice.

∞ ∞ ∞

The sheets on the bed rustle after around two hours of Robbe sitting on it. He puts aside his textbook to find dull green eyes staring at him from underneath the cloth. He reaches out to do something, anything, but his hand gets shoved away weakly.

Sander turns to face the wall. “What are you doing here?”

“I wanted to see you.” Robbe tells him. He tries to move Sander back around, but he tucks himself into the sheets even more.

Sander sighs, exhausted. “You should leave,”

Robbe stills.

“Just— go away.”

He looks around—at the clothes left hastily on the shelf, the pencil shavings on the floor, the drawing of him on the table, the sunset illuminating the room. His gaze shifts to the _sorry_ written on the paper as Sander tiredly repeats, “Go away.”

“No, I'm not leaving.” Robbe says softly, turning to face Sander again. He can't run away when he's come so far.

“Please,” Sander begs quietly.

He doesn't move. “I'm not leaving.”

He leans back enough to be able to see Sander's face again—the bags under his eyes, the dried tears on his cheeks, and the warm light reflecting in his irises.

He won't go, not again.

“You say that now.” whispers Sander.

“I'll be saying that tomorrow too.”

He shakes his head. “I don't believe you.”

“It's the truth.” Robbe mutters, and he means it. He reaches for Sander's hand, slowly pulling it towards him, pressing the softest of kisses onto it. “Fuck, man, Sander— I've been so worried since last week.”

Sander stares resolutely at the wall ahead, and swallows. “I only cause problems. I'm toxic. Everything I touch, it—”

He finally looks back, and it's with a heartbreaking expression on his face.

“Everything I touch just _breaks_.”

“That's not true,” Robbe says, delicately running his fingers over the other's knuckles. “Hey, Sander, look at me.”

Sander looks back hesitantly as Robbe repeats _look at me_ , and turns around to lie on his back. His hair is unkempt, his gown looks rumpled, and his hands are so, so cold.

He's just as beautiful as the day Robbe first saw him, first hung out with him, first kissed him, first laid with him—

He's always beautiful.

“You touched me,” Robbe states, with wonder in his voice, “and I've never felt something like that.”

Sander breathes deeply, eyes darting between the ceiling and the man on his bed. His face looks like he didn't believe a word of what he just heard.

“I love you.” Robbe says softly, and it's with a strength and conviction he's never felt before. It's the absolute truth.

Sander closes his eyes. For a few seconds, there's just silence. When he opens them again, he stares blankly at the white wall above him.

“You say that now. Sooner or later,” he says, voice cracking, close to tears. “I'll hurt you again, and you'll hate me.”

“No. No, no, no.” Robbe says gently, climbing onto the bed himself. “Not in this universe.”

Not in _any_ universe, he knows.

“Here, I'm staying with you.” he continues, “And whatever happens later, we'll deal with it then.”

Sander looks at him for a moment, before turning away. Robbe thinks back to the last week—to Britt pushing him away, to Sander's mom pulling him back, to Moyo's serendipitous words, to Senne's firm advice.

He knows what to do.

“Come, let's play a game.” Robbe says with a smile, hovering over the man on the bed. Sander's eyes land on him again, tired but curious. “It's called: _Sander and Robbe, minute by minute_.”

Sander shrugs lightly, as if bracing himself for some kind of bad news. “What are the rules?”

“The rules are that we're not gonna think _:_ what if we, _ever?_ — but: what if we, _in the next minute?_ Okay?”

“Okay.”

“In the next minute, we're gonna kiss.” Robbe announces.

There's a ghost of a smile on Sander's face. “That's chill.”

“That's chill.” Robbe repeats with a grin. He leans in, cupping Sander's face tenderly, pressing his lips against the other's. The two kiss slowly—Robbe's heart swelling up with every touch—but Sander suddenly pulls back, clutching his shirt tightly.

When Robbe blinks his eyes open and looks down, he notices the fresh tears in Sander's eyes. He slides himself down onto the bed, resting his head on the pillow, and pulls Sander in with his arms. 

“It's okay.” he says, as Sander cries into his shoulder with harsh breaths. “I'm here.”

Sander breaks further at that, choking out sobs, letting it all out. Robbe cards his hand through his hair, and presses a kiss onto his head.

“I'm so happy I found you.” he says, and he means it in every way possible, and in every world possible.

∞ ∞ ∞

“Robbe,” Sander speaks up, God-knows-how long later. He thinks it's been an hour, at least, with the sun now below the horizon, and the room being covered in darkness.

Robbe looks down at his chest, where he finds Sander's eyes already on him, a little brighter than before. “Hm?”

“I want to leave,” he says, “this— this place.”

“Okay.” Robbe agrees. “To your parents' house?”

Sander shakes his head. “Not yet.”

“Your place?”

“No.” he says firmly. Robbe can practically hear the _too lonely_ that Sander probably wanted to follow it up with.

He chuckles. “Britt's place?”

“ _Fuck_ , no.” he says, cracking a tiny smile. “I want absolutely nothing to do with her anymore.”

“Good.” Robbe laughs. “You could— you could come with me.”

Sander blinks for a few seconds, before leaning back a little to look at Robbe properly. “Really?”

“Yeah,” he mutters, “if you want to.”

“Would that be okay? With everyone else, I mean.”

“Sander, I'm pretty sure you're Milan's favorite roommate, when you don't even live there.” Robbe tells him, which cracks a full-on smile out of Sander. “And he's still waiting on you to bring him those croissants he wanted, so.”

“Oh, I see how it is.” Sander hums, “So this was all part of your pro-Milan's-croissants agenda?”

“Yessir. Sorry you had to find out this way.” Robbe says in a faux-serious voice. The two look at each other for a second, before bursting into quiet giggles. Robbe pulls Sander back into his arms, rubbing circles on his back. “Zoë and Senne wouldn't mind it either. So, what do you say?”

Sander hugs him loosely. “Sounds great.”

A nurse shows up to check on him a few minutes later, only mildly surprised to find someone else in the room as well. Robbe gets up from the bed and walks to the windows as Sander gets his vitals checked and asked a few questions. Apparently, he had voiced his want to check out of the hospital in that time, because moments later, a doctor is entering the room as well.

“Sander, how are you feeling?” the doctor asks. Robbe looks back outside, not wanting to intrude.

“Better,” Sander says, and Robbe knows he means it. “Yeah, better.”

“Good, that's good,” the doctor trails off, shuffling through some papers Robbe assumes are required for letting Sander leave. “Do you have all your medications with you?”

“Yeah,” he responds, “Will you change the doses?”

“Not yet. We'll discuss that in our next session, okay?” says the doctor. “Should I let your parents know you'll be reaching their place?”

“No, um, I'm not staying with them this time.”

“Oh.” he pauses. “With him, then?”

Robbe turns around from where he's folding Sander's shirt, slightly flushing. The doctor smiles at him warmly, before looking back at Sander. “I'll assume you're in good hands?”

“I am.” Sander says, “Hundred percent.”

“Alright, I trust you.” he says, with kindness in his voice. “Now, if you'll sign here…”

Minutes later, they're packing up all of Sander's things, and getting ready to leave.

Robbe circles back to the drawing on the table, staring at it for a minute, before picking up the pencil and scratching the _sorry_ out for a _thank you -R_. Sander comes up behind him, scanning the paper with narrow eyes. “You want to keep that?”

“Of course.” he says, folding the drawing carefully, and securing it in his pocket. “It's really good.”

“Not really,” Sander mutters, turning around to pick up his bag.

“ _Bullshit_.” Robbe says, linking their arms together. “You always manage to make me look like an Instagram model, it's insane.”

Sander grins. “Maybe because you _do_ look like an Instagram model?”

“Shut up, you big flirt.” he retorts, blushing only slightly. In his hurry to leave, he almost doesn't catch Sander's soft _I have way more drawings of you_ , which stops him in his tracks. “What, really? Where?”

Sander glances away self-consciously. “At Chernobyl.”

_Oh_ , Robbe thinks. He slides his hands down until they're linked with Sander's, at which he looks back again . “Will you show me?”

“It's really creepy, to be honest.” Sander sighs. “And besides, you said _fuck Chernobyl_ , didn't you?"

“I did say _fuck Chernobyl_ , but,” Robbe smiles, at the thought of Sander having an entire room dedicated to just _him_. “Maybe we could relocate?”

Sander smiles back, and after a moment, says, “I'll think about it.”

They leave behind the room, both a little lighter than before.

∞ ∞ ∞

Robbe watches his friend dance and drink from the doorway to the living room, beaming at their antics and their conversations. For once, having Noor around doesn't make him feel like he's drowning, and the boys don't make him want to hide himself in the bathroom until the end of the night.

He couldn't have even dreamt of this two months ago, but now it feels like this is how it was always meant to be.

It's a good night.

He doesn't notice Sander walking up to him as he texts his mom, typing the words _I have a lover. His name is Sander,_ without hesitation. As their eyes meet, he sends the message, stashing his phone away.

“My mother is pissed,” Sander announces, out of nowhere.

“What? Why?” Robbe asks immediately, feeling his heart sink suddenly. Sander just shrugs. “It isn't because you're here, right?”

“It's just,” Sander continues, his lips slowly turning into a mischievous smile. “that she really wants to meet you again. But, I don't get it. When did you two meet before?”

Robbe thinks of that Friday night—the siren, the burning blue light, Sander's pale body, Britt's red-rimmed eyes, his mom's compassionate hug. If he hadn't stuck around, maybe he wouldn't be here right now, in one of the happiest moments of his life—or, maybe he would've reached this point, but slower, more differently, with more difficulty.

He's so thankful for her words.

“Oh, yeah, we did meet before.” Robbe says, “She showed up here to give me the shovel talk, and everything. Kind intentions, but scary words.”

“Come on,” Sander giggles. “She didn't do that.”

Robbe raises an eyebrow.

Sander's eyes widen. “Did she?”

“No, of course not.” Robbe laughs. “But, yeah, we did meet.”

“I won't ask again.” Sander pouts. “So, do you want to come over tomorrow?”

Robbe nods. “Yeah, sounds good.”

“I mean, you don't have to. It's the first time I'm bringing a boy home.” Sander says bashfully, which makes Robbe want to kiss him right then, right there. “So, if you think it's a bit embarrassing—”

“Embarrassing?” Robbe snickers. “Sander, as long as you're wearing clothes, nothing is embarrassing anymore.”

“Okay, okay. I'll keep my clothes on tomorrow.” Sander says, before leaning in close, “Tonight, though…”

Robbe lights up. “That's allowed.”

Soon, they'll get roped into dancing with their friends. They'll meet Sander's parent's, and then Robbe's. Sander will sketch Robbe again, and Robbe will steal his clothes, and they'll have good days and bad days, but they'll always make it together in the end. Taking it minute by minute, they'll make it through anything.

For now, though, they'll live in the moment, just as they wish, just as they like.

**Author's Note:**

> thanks for reading! feel free to leave feedback and comments and stuff and cry about these kids with me. happy new year!


End file.
